The Lion Sue
by WinterfangDusk
Summary: A dark comedy, this piece is meant to make fan fiction writers stop and think a moment about what they are writing. The most common cliche s occur in a manner strung together to make utter chaos and hopefully, a thought provoking bit of narrative too.


The Lion Sue, part 1

The Lion Sue

Simba and Nala were lying on the grass together with Scar (because he never died you know.) and discussing how everyone mistreated him. The topic turned to the subject of Simba's long lost father.

Scar lamented that he had to kill Mufasa, saying again for the umpteenth time, "He abused me. He tormented me!"

Nala rebuffed him, noting that, "You did destroy the pride lands you know, not to mention try to rape me."

Scar grinned then, "Ahh yes, those were the times, weren't they? I mean, that was when I showed my true self. Why, I was more misunderstood than anyone, but you know that I did it for your own good, Nala. Tales are told across many an internet sight about how you liked it and desired it!"

Nala sat for a long moment; a confused and complicated grimace across her muzzle then, suddenly her face changed to surprise and then to a look of shear, giddy, stupidity. The gears had finally stopped turning and clicked into understanding. "OH! If the fictioners say it, then it must be true! Oh scar! Where have you been all my life!!"

Simba glared. "You know, I should be devastated right now. In fact, I should be down right pissed off! I mean, you killed my dad and now you took my best friend, my love, my kingdom and my life. But, the fictioners say I'm not, and they,"he paused a moment, and gave a heavy sigh, then finished the statement with, "are always right. See ya Nala…"

With that Simba slunk off. Oh, he wasn't sad. The fictioners said he couldn't be, so he decidedly wasn't. At least, that's what he told himself again and again. No one had defied a fictioner and lived. Legend had it that they were just erased and rewritten into something more compliant. There was no regard to what the grand creators had originally made. This world had been released and set to spin and then left to the masses of writers with a malicious will to pick it apart and change things, and rarely for the better.

Then, Simba's heart ache suddenly vanished. What had happened? He suddenly found himself thinking of someone else. Vitani was beautiful, and she was young too; young enough to be his daughter. He shook his head violently. "No!! This isn't me!" then it dawned on him. The fictioners had written this. He sighed. "What the fictioners want, I must do."

That night was filled with much laughter and love making and conversation as Simba's personality completely altered, and by the end of the night with her, he had been reshaped; remade into a proxy for a fictioner. With his one, defiant thought, the thought of missing Nala, he had been rewritten. The Simba that was once, was now no more.

Vitani couldn't be happier, as, she had been rewritten hundreds of times before. Every scrap of self she once had was gone. Never had she dealt with the grief for her mother and brother. In fact, she had no grief at all! The fictioner inside her had decided such. An empty shell for an empty shell; the match of Simba and Vitani was now as perfect and the one of Nala and Scar, no shame did the fictioners feel for tampering with a world that was not theirs.

Now Mufasa was not dead, not any more at least, thought the fictioners gave no reason why or how he returned. From the east he came and as he ascended his thrown, he saw his brother as king, his son's betrothed, fondling the scraggly lion's scrappy excuse for a mane, and his son listening aimlessly as Vitani babbled on about nothing while he just oogled her body with his eyes. He could do no more and no less.

Mufasa, once noble Mufasa, wanted to roar. He wanted to pounce on scar, burn Nala at the stake and give poor samba the ass paddling of his life! But then, the feelings went away. The fictioners had done their work. He strode quietly over to Scar, and on his face was a soft, warm smile, eerie in its calm, serenity. "Hello dear brother. I have missed you and I forgive you. In fact," he felt the words flowing from him beyond his control, he wanted to stop, to roar, to fight, but mighty Mufasa, was no match for the fictioner at play here, " I blame myself. I don't remember being horrible to you when we were kids, but the fictioners say I was, so it must be the truth."

Scars eyes widened in shock, then, settled to normal, as the fictioners forbade natural emotion to show. Only angst and lust were aloud and only at their discretion. Otherwise, it was pleasant, always. "Thank you my brother, let us rule together. Oh, by the way, you can have Sarabi back, I'm done with her, I have a new young thing, here."

Mufasa should have been enraged. He should have been shocked beyond all reckoning, but he wasn't. He smiled and winked at Simba. "Well done, my son."

Now Rafiki knew something was wrong, but as he too was subject to the fictioners will, he dared say nothing. He only watched and prayed from a distance that things would go right in the end.

Kovu and Kiara had split long ago. The fictioners had decided she was an idiot, and thus, Kovu lost interest. He had found a fun foray into the forbidden with first Simba's then Scar's girl. Nala was madly in lust with him (as real love is never expressed here,) and she could barely keep her paws off him. It mattered little that she was old enough to be his mother.

Kiara had slipped into depression and thrown herself from the top of the gorge a year ago. Simba had barely noticed, as per the fictioners will.

Rafiki had seen all this and had said nothing. He knew how to hide his emotions. He knew there was no weapon against this force.

One day, it all did end, in a manner of speaking that is. Peace was found in death, though how death happened is debated. Rafiki did not see it. He turned away at it's happening.

Three generations passed, generations with no story in the blink of an eye, perhaps the space of a three lined paragraph blurb at the beginning of a new page, thoughtlessly and lifelessly written, and now, a new king and queen occupied the throne. The forces of life, so skewed by the fictioners hands, were now tossed aside, broken as they were, like yesterdays toys and the fictioners had placed their own creations in their place.

No swan song was sung for Simba, for Nala, for Kovu and Kiara, no justice found for Mufasa, for Sarabi, Scar never faced his evil deeds and never knew them as evil, and Rifiki died alone, never having found peace, but kept his original self, simply by knowing full and well to never, never challenge the fictioners.

Those that held sway over the world were not of its original creators now. They were proxies; shells for the fictioners to live out their fantasies, their demented dreams of living a life that rightly belonged to someone else in a story that was rightly not told for them.

The fictioners did not grieve for that which they destroyed, and as the world slipped further into chaos, a small glimmer that was samba, whispered, "I love you Nala," and it was true that their spirit could not die and could not be possessed, rewritten, or taken, not as long as the true story remained. And the glimmer that was Mufasa said simply, "Remember."


End file.
